


A Blind Trust

by WoodenDeer



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blindness, Bromance, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hallucinations, Loneliness, Mental Health Issues, Physical Disability, Psychological Horror, Subtle Promnis, Touch-Starved, World of Ruin (Final Fantasy), not quite but
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-21 15:48:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30024114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WoodenDeer/pseuds/WoodenDeer
Summary: Life chewed up and tossed Ignis away, depriving him both from his sight and his King, but thankfully he still had his friends beside. None of them knew how to deal with the situation without Noctis, so the only thing they could do was keep living and hoping for his return.It wasn’t long before their facile scheme failed. The two of them decided if staying together hurt too much, they should try to go separate ways. Ignis supported their plan. He cared about Prompto and Gladio more than he needed the confirmation of his own capacity. If they wanted to leave, he wouldn’t hinder them.To Ignis’ surprise, they didn’t stop coming to him.
Relationships: Gladiolus Amicitia & Prompto Argentum & Ignis Scientia, Prompto Argentum/Ignis Scientia
Kudos: 9





	A Blind Trust

**Author's Note:**

> Some fun facts about this fic:  
> 1) I wrote it as a homework assignment to my English class literally a day ago. The task was writing a short story choosing one of the given genres WITH THE PERMISSION TO PRESENT A FANFIC, and I somewhat failed both recommendations - it's 10 pages and not-so-mystic as I planned it but pure drama.  
> 2) This fic was meant to be totally platonic, just three best bros mourning their fourth bro. I can't explain where the gay hints came from. I was finishing writing and it just sounded so equivocal, there was nothing I could do to fix it. My teacher still didn't check my message with the doc, hope he will like my scribble khkjhdl  
> 3) It also should have been a story totally open to any interpretation buuut it turned out Ignis handles loneliness too poorly. And it may do things to him. Bad things.  
> 4) Yooo angsty creepy gayish fic that costed me 2 nights of sleep, it's my absolute record to spawn this much this fast. Enjoy!

They didn’t see the hide or hair of Noctis for a month, but it felt like half of Ignis’ life had passed. It was hard to tell the difference between a day and a night when he couldn’t establish it with his own eyes. According to the others, it was not there in principle, as if they all lived in the world of the blind where there was only darkness, uncertainty and lurking monsters at the corner. The latter became more of the reality than it was ever during their road trip: with the swiftly fading sun, daemons grew brazen and overthrew one inhabited locality after another, pushing humanity to the borders of big communities such as Lestallum. The fate of those outposts and villages which couldn’t afford the equally bright floodlights was a most deplorable. Ignis found himself among the lucky souls that the generous lestallums took under wing. Disabled, wretched, squeezed into the bulging at the seams city, but lucky. Without his sight and without his King, he still managed to surpass the majority. 

For his tiny apartment, he should be grateful to Prompto and Gladio. And he was. If not their help, he would have probably rotted in the Crystal chamber back in the Zegnautus Keep, waiting for the return of someone who might never come back. The ambiguous vision Pryna showed him at her deathbed gave him the unconsoling but hope nevertheless.

Ignis didn’t tell the guys about it. He didn’t know why. It was unfair to them but he wanted to keep that faint promise all to himself like a secret that would cheer him up in the worst days. He had an inkling they were on the horizon. Until then he spent his abnormally free hours materializing and dismissing back to the Armiger his daggers over and over again, like one fiddled with a butterfly knife or a coin. Simple moves memorized by heart, he performed them without batting an eyelash in the form of daily routine.

His heart sank a few times when he thought Noctis’ magic stopped working, but the next moment the knife was in his hand, solid and real. He thought maybe it was he who stopped working. When Ignis realized what he was doing, how he was _wasting_ his time, he gripped the blade with his bare palm so as not to thrust it handle-deep into his own chest.

His friends supported his decision to learn how to fight, depending not on his vision but hearing and smell. They volunteered to assist him as his sparring partners, and Ignis focused on the familiarity of the process and not on an embarrassing sight he should have presented. To his regret, the guys didn’t bear him company for long: they were skillful warriors and needed pretty much everywhere as daemons continued to wreak havoc. Gladiolus complimented him by saying he was the dagger master among the four of them, and Prompto joked his guns would be too loud for his sensitive ears. Ignis let them go. Whether their excuses were genuine or they harbored ulterior reasons, it didn’t matter. He was capable and had only one person to take care of for a change. And he had to prove he was worthy of staying by Noct’s side when he’d return. 

They didn’t give up on visiting him. They came together or, mostly, separately, battered and exhausted but insisting on offering aid in cooking the dinner or cleaning his flat. There wasn’t much to clean since Ignis barely did anything at home except for sleeping and brooding, and the ingredients ran out of stock to boast with his culinary talents. They spoke about sorties Prompto and Gladio carried recently, about the fallen hunters, their acquaintances and fleeting buddies, about the Hammerhead and miss Cindy (if it was Prompto) or Iris (if it was Gladio), about evolving daemons, reformed Crownsguard and Kingsglaive, evacuation of Insomnia, Aranea’s expeditions, substitutes for lacking seasoning, his trainings, citizens, Astrals, even their childhood stories were recalled… But they didn’t speak about Noctis. Ignis noted how Gladio flinched under his touch and Prompto went dead silent at the mention of his name alone. He decided it was for better not to raise the topic, at least for a little while.

At some point their conversations haltered. Ignis could practically sense the struggles with finding new themes to discuss, especially when it seemed that each of them led to their King’s absence and how he didn’t share their laughs and sorrows anymore. After the irrevocable silence fell between them, Ignis allowed them to lean on him and listened to their hitching breathing until it leveled again.

That way they communicated via touches as the last words were lost. Ignis was sad but not surprised when even they began to reduce: much less shoulder pats, hair ruffling, hands strokes, elbow jabbing, the hugs they developed attachment to last months totally disappeared… It wasn’t long before both Prompto and Gladio announced their plans to right-down fling themselves into hunting, which meant their visits to him would decrease to a near zero. They swore to look in on him occasionally but just to check how he was doing and that was it. Ignis knew better than to suspect the two of them colluded against him, getting tired and bored of fussing with an invalid. To tell the truth, he expected their retreat and rather soon than late, but they likely felt guilty to leave him behind.

In their goodbye evening he made sure they were sated and well-equipped, demanded a pledge to stay alive and saw them off at the door. Everyone handled grief differently, but once again the same knolls covered their roads. However Ignis would lie if he said he wouldn’t miss their companionship.

That was why the knock on the door the next day took him by surprise. Ignis certainly didn’t expect guests so soon and at first fought with himself whether he should answer or not. The impatient whine ‘ _Iggy, it’s cold out here!_ ’ made him open the door without further hesitation. Prompto rushed into his apartment with the gust of wind and dived into the full-fledged chattering like there weren’t heavy pauses they suffered from past days. Prompto seemingly didn’t need his active participation in the dialogue, so Ignis let him talk to his heart’s content, not without a surge of relief. He liked his voice way more than the arid drawl of radio presenters.

As sudden as he came, Prompto bid him bye-bye and was gone faster than Ignis had a chance to ask him what was the matter. Standing in his empty, quiet flat all by himself, Ignis lowered his hand he had outstretched to reach for Prompto a second ago and sighed. A gust of wind, indeed. 

When the next day Gladio rang the doorbell, Ignis asked first off what happened. It was uncommon for them to pay him visits two days in a row even in the beginning of everything. Especially after the solemn and hard-won decision to play solo they laid out for him recently. Gladio barked a laugh at his high-strung reaction and suggested he let him in and only then they would chew the fat. Ignis frowned at the word choice but undid the locks. Gladio’s behavior, by all means, didn’t indicate an emergency had happened that required his immediate involvement. In fact, Gladio sounded light and breezy – something Ignis didn’t remember to hear since Altissia. He said he just wanted to come and see Ignis, nothing more. By pure reflex, Ignis quipped that if only he could do the same, internally trying to figure out why it felt so wrong. Gladio laughed again and, with a nonchalant ‘ _Nah, doesn’t worth it_ ’, carried him into a chat. 

“Actually, I wanted to do the laundry today,” Ignis said carefully to see if the change of activity would shuffle Gladio’s original intentions, whatever they were. 

“No probs. Go for it,” Gladio replied just as smoothly. Ignis waited for something else but received none. They headed to the bathroom.

Soon after he encountered another odd detail: as much as Gladio hurried to deal with any remotely taxing task Ignis could need to do before, that time he didn’t seem keen on joining him with laundry. ‘ _Don’t feel like it_ ,’ he shrugged. Or Ignis thought he shrugged since he could only guess. He nodded and got busy with the work he frankly contrived for a pretext. Gladio leisurely commented on utter trifles, things about cup noodles and sword grease, not sparing a word about his prompt visit or his hypothetical injury preventing him from labour.

“Okay, it was nice to see you’re managing. Keep it on, Specs,” Gladio said without preamble. His voice started to move out to the exit. “Till next time then.”

“Wait,” Ignis dashed after him, “Gladio!”

So very out of character, Ignis darted his hand forward to feel for Gladio’s traumas without permission. It wasn’t unheard for his friend to hide his pain under the layer of bravura, so he had to make sure Gladio didn’t pull that stunt with him. A small part of Ignis scolded him for concealing the truth that he simply wanted to touch him, to assure himself Gladio was really there, and even if he couldn’t see him, he always had the right to find comfort in him in the hour of need.

Just when he would grab Gladio’s arm-or-anything, Ignis’ hand caught thin air in the place where, he could swear, his friend was supposed to stand. Gladio responded profusely at his maneuver:

“Woah! What was that? Don’t remember you as the handsy type, Igs. Careful there.” Despite the reprimand, Gladio’s laugh was blaring and rolling. Ignis shifted his hand here and there but felt nothing resembling Gladio’s bulky form. “Alright, seriously, don’t do that again. You know what time it is now; I could hit you or worse, leave more scars on your face. I’m the Shield here, scars are my prerogative, not yours. Understood?”

Still coping with the fact that Gladio _recoiled_ from him, Ignis droned, “Understood.”

“Good. See ya.”

And then he was gone. Ignis, shaken by the unpleasant realization, commanded himself to get his head straight on. If Gladiolus preferred him to keep his hands away, Ignis would respect his boundaries. It was already a joy he found an opportunity to drop in on him, Ignis told himself. He didn’t have much to do, neither did he accept other guests, so hearing his friends was more than he could ask. He only wished Gladio stayed for a little longer. ‘Till next time,’ he said. Next time he would invite him overnight. It would be refreshing to cook his signature dishes for once.

***

Confused as never, Ignis listened to Prompto’s babble somewhat absent-mindedly. Thinking of the ‘next time’, he didn’t hope for it to happen so soon… exactly tomorrow afternoon, the day after Gladio’s visit and two days after his previous date with Prompto. Cutting off his patter with not so much as a remorse, Ignis voiced his concern:

“Do you need something, Prompto?”

Ignis knew from experience just how fragile his young companion’s feelings were, and perhaps his question was too straightforward, but he couldn’t think of anything better. The fear that Prompto’s high spirit was superficial, that he pleaded for help in the only way known to him – by smiling and messing around, overwhelmed Ignis to neglect tact.

Prompto didn’t sound a slightest bit aghast as Ignis expected him, “No. Why? I’m cool like that.”

“Are you sure? Don’t you want to tell me something? Or ask me to do? It’s alright, I won’t be angry with you.” 

“I mean, thank you, but why do you think I’m in trouble? Or what do you think, I dunno. I’m not in trouble, honest! A-and your remark about not being angry kinda has the opposite effect, just for your reference.” 

Ignis took a deep breath, annoyed with no one in particular. Despite how much he strived to distinguish the trembling notes in Prompto’s voice, his usual sign he was caught ‘red-handed’, he heard none. Just Prompto’s regular cheerful, a little awkward rant.

“But hey, um, what with those questions?” Prompto tried when he didn’t reply. “Maybe it’s _you_ who needs something?”

“I’m positively alright, no worries. If anything, I find it strange you—”

“Yeah? Strange what?”

Ignis couldn’t proceed even if he wanted. What did he intend to say? ‘It’s strange you look fine’ of all things? ‘It’s strange you come to visit me’? He couldn’t possibly say it aloud. So he remained silent.

He led them to the kitchen where Prompto spoke for both of them for hours, while Ignis chewed on the dinner he prepared for them without interest. When it was time to tell goodbye, Ignis tried to point the subject as casually as it still held the implication:

“Don’t forget to eat well.”

He didn’t need eyes to notice Prompto didn’t bite a morsel during the whole evening. Old habits died hard, it seemed. The nearing Apocalypse was more than enough of a reason to trigger Prompto’s harmful proclivities. 

Prompto giggled and chirped _Gotcha, mama Ignis_. After it he was off to who knew what business drove him forward those days. Only then Ignis recollected his idea with the sleepover.

He was too occupied processing how in hell Prompto stayed out of his reach when they virtually brushed shoulders. Ignis’ place was not big enough for the one grown-up man, there was no possibility the two of them could avoid bumping into each other from time to time. A lanky lad that he was, Prompto made it a habit to complain about his claustrophobia every time the walls of Ignis’ small flat began to close in on him. He did so already nearly sitting on Ignis’ lap, it was inevitable with the meager space he owned. Insofar as it hurt, Ignis had to admit his little companion shunned his proximity. For some reason it upset him more than the incident with Gladiolus. Maybe he counted on Prompto’s overall touch starvation. As it turned out, he was the desperate one. To think he would yearn for physical contact one day…

Cleaning the tableware, Ignis concluded it was hectic two days and for his efforts he deserved a reward – a full night sleep with the following practice free day. Maybe he would finally get around to enjoy that audiobook he ordered an eternity ago… 

***

He never had a chance to get to the book, he barely had time for himself as Prompto and Gladio haunted his apartment more frequently than they appeared in their own homes. Ignis couldn’t say he was opposed to it in spite of how tiring it was. He surmised the alternative would have been worse. 

The guys kept coming to him almost every day but never together as if waiting behind the door when the other would leave. Ignis was bemused by the observation but estimated it was not worth attention; if they felt comfortable like that, he would not be the one to abash them, considering they didn’t make an impression they had a run-in. In a way it was also convenient for him, having one visitor at once. Ignis even created a sort of game: deducing who arrived at his today judging by knocks in the door or a doorbell ring.

Time went on, Ignis realized their constant presence was a remedy to his disease he wasn’t fully aware of – loneliness. Not having Noct around all the time left him exposed to the alien dread of staying alone and, worse, becoming useless, expendable, a shadow of the past omnipotent and ever-wise Ignis Scientia. His sophisticated eloquence would fail him to pick the words of immense gratitude he felt every time Prompto lit up the darkness behind his eyelids with his good-natured humour, or when Gladio brushed aside his doubts of not being competent to persist in advising the King, or when they brought up to him auspicious tidings about the outside world. With their incessant support he didn’t mind sticking inside his confined flat: the guys said they didn’t want to plunge into the teeming market square, or swinge weapons after all they came through, then so be it, he totally understood. In the bubble of his little world shared between the three of them he felt finally at home.

The only thing he lamented was the shortage of body contact. Sometimes it made him think he spoke with the ghosts, but the thought was too uncanny to dwell on it. After all, it wasn’t like he needed skinship to survive.

There were times he suspected such lavish communication was out of tune with his organism of an introverted person. The times he turned around imagining the familiar voices in the crowd of Lestallum, which could be very plausible if not the number of new refugees in the city. Or the times he snapped out of sleep, thinking he heard someone called him through the dream. But a dream was always a mere dream, because every time he got up and investigated his flat (he still ought to be alert and cautious) he met only the cool draft blowing from the window crevices. Not once he embarrassed himself by answering the questions that no one asked in reality. That was the reason he felt more confident greeting Prompto or Gladio on the doorway – he knew for sure he wasn’t talking with the walls.

Even accepting the new rules of their friendship, even refusing to connive his paranoia, Ignis ran several experiments, each of which ended with him feeling like a complete idiot. He dared to test how Prompto and Gladio would act if his blind man’s clumsiness would be activated. Unhappily to his currently ever-aching body, he only gained fresh bruises and scratches, one time barely escaping the good chance to gouge out the remnants of his eyeballs and break a bone. The guys fretted over him from the distance, never crossing the invisible borderline between their personal spaces. It frustrated Ignis to the limits of his composure, but he reminded himself he couldn’t be mad at them. It didn’t do anything with his fitful sleep though, or his daily jumpiness, making him simultaneously crave and eschew a large concourse.

Then so be it, Ignis repeated, then so be it. More than anything, it motivated him to sharpen his instincts. He refused to be a gawky cripple and never would he be the one.

***

There wafted a melody in the air. The same hysterical cry of violins tickled his nerves one circle after another before Ignis remembered that was his phone ringtone. Once integral, like a limb, thing to him, in the present he spent an improbable amount of time deciphering the source of music, and a little more time searching for the location of the device. Thankfully, he didn’t forget to charge it albeit not using it. The touchpad was a tad tricky but the body memory led him through the habitual gestures. Ignis picked up the call.

“Scientia’s by the phone. How can I help you?”

No response.

He cleared his throat and tried again, “Who am I speaking with?”

No response.

Maybe he dallied too long and the person dropped the call?.. Of course, there was a probability of prank callers but he believed his number was unavailable to the common people. Either it was a coincidence or he was too late in the end. Just when Ignis was about to lock the phone, the voice on the other side finally spoke, and it was very familiar and very, very distraught:

“ _Iggy? Hey. It’s me, um, Prompto. Do you remember me?_ ”

A humorless chuckle.

“ _Okay, I know I am an asshole for not calling you, like, for ages, and you sure as hell can be mad at me, and you can beat the crap out of me later, but right now I really, really need you, Iggy. Can I drop in?_ ”

To say the least, Ignis was puzzled. He couldn’t decide what affected him the most, the strange request (to be precise, the need to state it) or the sheer misery that permeated Prompto’s intonation. Only yesterday he was cheeky like a newborn chocobo, what could possibly happen to cause such distress all of sudden? 

“ _Iggy? You’re still there?_ ”

Reining his mind, Ignis cleared his throat again, that time out of the real necessity. The quiver in Prompto’s voice boded no good. He said, trying to sound calm, “Of course. When should I await you?”

“ _Actually… I’m already here. Like, I see you in the window. By the way, dude, why are your curtains up? You live on the first floor, what if— Shit, sorry, I forgot. Sorry, I didn’t mean to—_ ”

“Prompto, it’s fine. Give me a minute and I’ll let you in. Does it sound okay to you?”

A noisy rustle on the line, probably a sigh, and then, “ _Yeah. Yeah, okay._ ”

Ignis hung up the call. The great deal of the minute he required he spent on smoothing his rumpled thoughts. His pulse beat out of rhythm in his ears and he didn’t know why. The path to the door seemed inexplicably thorny, but he couldn’t afford to make Prompto wait. Something told him it was crucial at the moment to hear him out.

Oh how he wished he could see Prompto when he invited him inside and guided him to his tiny bedroom, the only room with soft furniture. He knew his flat was vapid and depressing to some degree, but it was the first time he regretted it for real. Bald surfaces certainly weren’t a panacea to distress his companion experienced, Ignis sensed it in the air.

They took a seat. No one risked a word; Ignis waited for Prompto to take the initiative, and Prompto probably was expecting the same from Ignis. Or he didn’t know where to start. Ignis dropped a hint, “How are things in Meldacio going? Dave still recovers hunters’ dogtags?”

“Dave is… gone. A daemon. I mean, the hunt went wrong and… Sorry, I thought you knew.”

Ignis one hundred percent didn’t know and would have preferred to remain oblivious, not to mention what a disastrous direction the conversation took from the start. He had a feeling he heard Gladio spieling a story about Dave and his aunt not so long ago, but he should have misinterpreted it. The discovery of their good friend’s demise threatened to dishearten Ignis, but it was not the moment for moping. One problem at a time.

“I’m sorry to hear it. Dave was a trusty comrade and a gracious leader. If there is something I can do—”

“Curtains!” Prompto exclaimed, sealing Ignis’ mouth for good. “Your curtains are ul. In the bedroom too. This won’t do, Igs. No, no, don’t get up, I’ll fix it. Here. That’s better.”

The zip of rolling curtains startled Ignis. Prompto really shut the blinds?.. Wait, why did it take him aback?..

The floorboard creaked under Prompto’s step, and he crashed onto the chair like a sack of cobbles. He sighed, then he murmured ‘That’s better, yeah, that’s better’. His fingers drummed on the armrests, and by the moment he started speaking Ignis had been already overloaded with sounds:

“I started smoking.” He giggled nervously. That wasn’t the beginning Ignis anticipated. “Not just cigarettes. But that, other stuff, is hella expensive, so I don’t toy with it often. Maybe when money will fall in value further… Are you mad? You look mad.”

“I’m not mad at you, Prompto. I’m sorry that life is unkind to you. You don’t deserve to go through all these hardships.” Ignis said so but he boggled at comprehending the grounds for a drastic change in Prompto’s demeanor. He seemed so lively lately… Could it be his jester mask cheated Ignis? 

“You are sorry? _I_ am sorry! We left you here all alone! How do you handle it, without your sight? Do you keep training? Do you have somebody if something happens with you? How can you not be mad at me, at us?”

“But I’m not alone. I have you two,” simply said Ignis. That part in Prompto’s outburst confused him the most. 

Prompto wheezed as if all air was squeezed out of his lungs. “Yeah. Yes, you’re right.” He jabbered, Ignis barely understood him, “I promise I’ll do better from now on, Iggy. Screw hunting, I suck at it anyway. I’m still shaking like a mouse every time one of those bastards roars far away. It’s not for me, maybe it never was… Funny, huh? Whatever, I’ll be with you. I move out! Do you have spare linens? Or, no, no, I won’t intrude into your space! Maybe the next flat?.. Sounds nice. Gods, I missed you so much, Igs.”

“But what about Gladio?” Ignis asked. He felt like he was going insane, and Prompto’s fidgeting didn’t help him to calm down. Why was he saying things like those? They met regularly. They laughed and punned together. Gladio totally mentioned Dave a couple of days prior. 

“Gladio? He’s in Niflheim and has been since autumn. The signal there isn’t so good, so I didn’t hear from him for a while.”

“But…” Ignis was at loss how to explain anything. “I saw him yesterday.”

“Nuh-uh, can’t be. You must have mistaken him for another guy.”

A shiver went through Ignis’ body in a cold tread. He wanted to finally be angry like Prompto expected him to be, but all he felt was absolute helplessness. Ignis didn’t tell him he couldn’t mistake Gladio because he was taught to distinguish his voice among others no worse than Noctis’. And if not the voice, then the attitude, name, manners… They belonged to Gladio and to no one else. 

But didn’t Prompto imply they didn’t meet either?

Apparently, he was too engaged in planning his move to correct Ignis. Apparently, he didn’t pay attention to his face either, because it surely looked as blank as his mind felt. One problem at a time seemed too much of an endeavor. 

“Another thing I wanted to say,” Prompto abruptly shifted the topic. “About smoking. It is, u-uh, it’s. Not. Argh, dammit… It’s not the worst part. There is something else.”

“Do you want to discuss it?” Ignis asked automatically. The meaning behind Prompto’s words eluded him completely, so if he needed something from him, he’d better be clear about it. He’d better tell him something that made sense.

“Yes. Maybe… Not now, I think,” Prompto mumbled. He didn’t say anything after.

Ignis felt the all-consuming need to touch him right there and then. It felt like if he didn’t, he would crumble. He would stop existing. He already questioned that fact the person called Ignis Scientia wasn’t a figment of his imagination, and to convince himself that he was real, that Prompto was real, he needed to feel him under his hand.

Prompto gasped as Ignis’ fingers brushed his knuckles. He was so cold and bony… And his skin was weathered. And maybe a few scars? Those totally felt like scars. He should remind him to wear warmer gloves as winter came on. Silly Prompto, he always neglected his own health…

When another hand lay atop his, Ignis thought it was nice. To actually feel someone. A very warm feeling despite the coldness of the other’s skin. Like the vacuum he existed in lately started to wane. And to dispel it fully, he needed more of that warmth.

“Do you want to stay overnight? I have spare linen.”

Prompto sobbed, and the next second there was so much more of him in Ignis’ hands. It, too, felt nice. It felt so good he was deafened by the flow of sensations, but if he could choose, he would never barter it away.

“When will Noct return?” Prompto asked him quietly, not pulling back from his chest. 

Ignis hugged the shaky body in his arms tighter and tried to carve every detail about it in his memory.

***

Propping the front door with his back, Ignis pressed his palm where Prompto left his marks last night, thought about his warmth, his salty tears, his earthy smell, while the voices of Gladio and Prompto and even Noctis shouted for him to let them in. 


End file.
